The seconds fell like teeth.
Twelve.
Ten.
Eight.
Something moved in the window.
Third floor.
The office I used to stand outside when Wolfe wouldn’t let me in.
Five.
Four.
A flash.
Not fire.
Light.
Then the glass exploded outward.
A bloom of orange and black erupted through the facade. The windows shattered. People screamed. The camera jolted. Refocused. Smoke poured out of the hole in the building like the structure was exhaling its secrets.
I didn’t blink. The man beside me didn’t move. He just adjusted the volume. The screams got louder. Sirens in the distance. The feed switched angles. Another camera.
Closer.
The fire crawled across the frame like it had hands.
And then I saw him. Not Wolfe. Royal. Stumbling out of the smoke. Shirt torn. Blood streaking down one arm. His mouth moved, shouting something I couldn’t hear.
The audio lagged. Then it caught up.
“WOLFE!”
His voice cracked through the speaker like it had teeth. My body jolted like he'd screamed it into me. The name hit harder than anything they'd done to my skin.
It wasn't just pain. It was a vow. And I knew—if Wolfe was still a name being shouted, then Wolfe was still alive. Then Wolfe was stillalive.
He dropped to his knees in front of the building. Grabbed at the dirt. Dragged himself forward. Then the screen cut to black.
The man beside me turned the camera toward me. I stared into the lens. Not at him. Not at the feed. But at what they thought they were doing.
They thought they were making a statement. I was the proof. But I was also the weapon. Because they hadn’t buried me yet. And Wolfe? He would set the world on fire to drag me out of this room.
They changed the feed. No warning. One second I was staring at Royal—bloodied, staggering, clawing his way toward the front of the Lawlor building like he could pull it back from collapse with his bare hands.
The next?
Wolfe’s apartment filled the screen.
Not from the inside. Not the way I remembered it. Not the warmth of the kitchen under low lights. Not the smell of cedar and espresso in the morning. Not the way the bedroom looked when I stripped for him in silence.
This was outside. Street-level. Distant. A wide shot of the building’s face. The windows all mirrored black. Still. Untouched. Until they weren’t.
